We've said we were never going to do the latter since we're...uncomfortable with paywalling stuff. But with the whole 'can't teach full time for who knows how long, if ever' we need to get some extra income somewhere. And swallowing our pride is much superior to working retail or what have you (though we'll likely still have to do that, unless the novels sell *really* well).
Shilling for ourselves aside, going to spend this week trying to get the next chapter together. Hell, we're going to spend tomorrow trying to get it together. It's just a fairly difficult one since it's the start of the next arc (might be the final arc, we're still internally debating that one). Gotta show what's going on with:
Thompson
Schreiber
Italy
Hood
Japan maaaaybe the Soviets
....yeah. A fair bit of stuff to juggle here. That's why it's taken so long, ignoring other stuff coming up, like the nation game.
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Chapter 62.1
Truk Lagoon, June 25th, 1942
In the calm waters of Truk Lagoon, giants slumbered under a starry sky. Lights dimmed and portholes blocked off to protect from daring submariners. Lookouts stared out into the darkness while their shipmates slept, though the ships were never truly quiet. Men labored in their depths, preparing them for future combat. Planes were repaired and armed to be ready for launch at a moments notice.
When at war, no one ever really rested.
This was proven true aboard one of the dim giants. While her crew slept or labored away, one man sat in his quarters, uncomfortable and pensive. He had not felt restful in a very, very long time. Not since the attack on the Americans, so long ago.
I wonder if I ever will get used to this. Likely not.
Kojiro Takeda often wondered when his life had taken a turn for the bizarre. He had been nothing more than a proud servant of his Emperor, serving as a fighter pilot aboard the newest carrier in the fleet. He had been honored by that, and he knew his family approved, as well. It had been a simple life, perhaps, one without any greater desires than to fly his Reisen and serve his Emperor and country. The attack on the Americans had been enough to break his usual routine, even on its own.
Now, as he sat in his cabin and stared at the grey-green haired girl across from him, he still wondered if he was insane, some days.
"It's been months now! Are you ever going to tell the Captain about me, or not?" The girl glared at him, hands on her hips. Her scandalously short skirt shifted on her legs, as she brought one of those hands up to shake at him. "I won't wait forever, you know! I'll go to him myself!"
"Good luck with that, Zuikaku." Takeda snorted, softly, at the mental image. No, the Captain wouldn't even entertain the idea. Even he wondered, half the time, if this really was Zuikaku.
Sure, the carrier was new, but she still seemed...very young. Impulsive. Entirely unlike a proper Japanese warship.
"One would have thought you would be more mature, after our time in the Indies..." Takeda muttered under his breath. He ignored the resulting glare with long, hard-earned, practice. "Zuikaku, you are well aware why I have not told the Captain. I have no desire to be removed and sent home as a madman."
The kami glared at him a bit more, before blowing out a sigh and falling down on his bed. Takeda studiously avoided looking at where her red skirt billowed out around her. Where had she gotten the idea to wear such scandalous clothing, anyway? He remembered the American kami wearing a far more conservative dress.
What was the world coming to, indeed, when American ship kami were more conservatively dressed than proud Japanese warships?
"You do know that you're not the only one who saw that American," Zuikaku's voice was every bit as sour as the look in her green eyes. "And that's ignoring the cruiser in the Philippines! It's not a secret that we exist!"
Takeda shrugged, "No, it is not. It is an open question as to if this is unique to the Americans or not, however."
In response, the carrier only clicked her tongue and pointed at her lithe form. That she looked like a teenager did not help her case, in regards to her clothing. Takeda was a young man himself, and he still felt intensely uncomfortable when he thought of it.
...perhaps I am too focused on how she looks instead of how she acts?
Snorting at that thought, the man brought himself back into focus, and looked at Zuikaku. Past her obvious issues, he could see the steel in her. The gaze that bored into his soul every time they met like this. She was rude, impulsive, childish, angry and everything in between. Yet, even past all of that, she had a core of hardened metal that spoke to what she claimed to be.
It was why Takeda entertained her. Why he listened to her instead of assuming he had gone as mad as the world had.
"...why have you not attempted to talk to anyone else?" He finally asked the question that had been on his mind for many days.
Silence was his only answer. Silence and a deep crimson blush, spreading from the roots of Zuikaku's hair, down to her chin. He imagined it spread even further down her neck, though her relatively modest top concealed it. That train of thought had his own cheeks heat up, though he pushed it down. After all...
"I...didn't think about it."
...Zuikaku's answer had the pilot sigh and lower his head. He was far too professional to bring his hands to his face, though the thought did occur to him. She truly did act both her apparent and her actual age.
"You should have. I should not be responsible for you, Zuikaku. You are our kami and you should know better." Instead, Takeda took on the role of the disapproving...older brother, perhaps? He had no siblings, though he imagined it was like this.
Though, he still sighed softly, as he continued, "You should attempt to speak with the Captain, yourself. I may not be of a sufficient rank to know what our grand plans are, yet I imagine we are setting out soon. Why else gather all of this here?"
His hand waved grandly out his dimmed porthole, taking in the fleet sitting in the lagoon that neither of them could see.
Akagi. Hiryu. Soryu. Shoukaku. And, of course, Zuikaku.
All of the remaining fleet carriers, gathered together for what could only be a major battle with the Americans. What else could justify bringing them all together like this? Takeda was no strategist, no captain, yet he was not blind. Nor stupid.
"...you aren't wrong," Zuikaku was still marred by a dusting of pink upon her cheeks. She did not confirm, nor deny, Takeda's musings.
No, she just clenched her hands in her skirt, and looked at him with what could best be described as a...caring expression?
What is with this kami? Takeda frowned, as he thought about her mood swings. One moment she could be berating him with all the ferocity of a scalded cat. The next, she could act like...well, like she was going to hug him and never let go.
Was this how women acted when they were not expected to be subservient to their husband or father?
"I'm comfortable with you. You're a good friend." Zuikaku's voice was every bit as soft as the look in her green eyes. It was enough to have Takeda shift uncomfortably on his bed, as the carrier scooted closer to him. "I like spending time with you and I haven't really thought about talking to anyone else. Guess that's why I wanted you to do it for me."
"For a kami, you certainly do not act like one." Takeda's dry response was done as much to cover his own embarrassment as anything.
If his goal was to make Zuikaku act more like she normally did, it worked. Her blush redoubled as the carrier sent a withering glare his way. "What was that?! I'll have you know that I act as a proud member of the 5th Carrier Division!"
Her glare and return to form could only make Takeda chuckle. Ah. This was the Zuikaku he had grown used to. He could handle this far better.
"As we all are." Takeda easily nodded along, reflecting once more on when this had become his 'normal'. "And, indeed, why you should be talking to the Captain. If we are going to return to combat once more, after the Indies, I would prefer to know that we are not outmatched by the Americans and their kami."
Zuikaku flinched and turned her face away with a huff. She held her nose up, crossing her arms over her chest, and not looking at Takeda. Yes. That one had hit a sore spot.
"I...will try to talk to him before we leave. And suggest that Shoukaku do the same." Zuikaku refused to look at Takeda, as she climbed off the bed and set out from his room.
The pilot didn't say anything and just let her go. He looked down at his hands and sighed heavily. His life was anything but normal now.
...so why did he prefer it this way?
London
Admiral Günther Lütjens, dressed in a civilian suit, was incredibly uncomfortable in his new role. Months after that first fateful meeting, he had been fully brought in as...what he could only call a traitor to his country. His people would certainly see it that way. He did, after all, and he was the one taking these actions. The one working with the enemy.
And the worst part was, he did it all entirely willingly. He didn't have to do this.
"Admiral, if you could come over here, please?" A British man spoke up, his own nondescript suit not hiding his military bearing. The lieutenant, for that was what he was, stood over a pile of maps.
Lütjens sighed deeply before doing as requested. "What do you need?"
"I need you to look over these maps. I know you aren't a general by any means, but," here, the man pointed at the pile of maps. A sea of gray pushing into a wave of red. "We need to get some idea of how this is going and you're the closest to an expert we have, in lieu of talking with that Schreiber fellow."
A soft chuckle came from the Admiral, in spite of his situation. "He is also an Admiral, so I rather doubt he knows more about land combat than I do. Let me take a look."
The maps meant near enough nothing to him, of course. Oh, sure, he could read a map. No sailor worth his salt couldn't. At least if they reached any real rank. But the ability to read a map did not translate into the ability to understand something beyond the scope of his experience. The vague movements portrayed on the map, clearly done through reports from either the Reds or Schreiber, meant nearly nothing to him. He could see where armies moved but the reasons why...
Well, I suppose I can understand the tactics on some level. It is not that dissimilar to a fleet action, in the broadest sense.
"I'm afraid I am the wrong person to ask, if you want any insight into what my fellow leaders are doing." Still, Lütjens stepped back from the maps with a Gallic shrug. No point in lying. "I can make guesses, but I could no more tell you what they are planning than I could tell you what food Goering had today."
Some habits died hard. Even the straight-laced lieutenant chuckled a little at that joke.
It faded off, though, into a pensive frown, "I see. Well, it was worth a try. We've had reports from the Reds that things are...heating up on their end."
It was rather telling how much they trusted Lütjens. That they were willing to mention that to him. The Admiral felt a mix of gratitude and intense, roiling, shame. "You should know that is the focus of the Fuehrer, yes? He has always focused on the Bolsheviks."
"That's no secret. We're still wondering why it took so long for those two to come to grips." The lieutenant shrugged in response.
He reached down and started sorting the pile of maps, too. As he did so, Lütjens sucked in a breath and held out a hand. He couldn't do more than make guesses, but perhaps those guesses may be valuable.
"Wait. If you desire my educated guess," he pointed at one map in particular, showing a push towards the South. "I believe that it is likely the generals are pushing towards the south. I can't claim to know why, but that is what I can see."
Indeed, it was obvious even to a relative neophyte in ground tactics. The lieutenant looked at the maps and frowned lightly. "I see...I wonder. The Caucasus. Don't the Reds have oil fields out that way?"
Lütjens could only shake his head, "If they do, it is the first I have heard of it. I grant you that I have never put much mind into what goes on in the East."
A small grimace came over the Admiral's lips, as he said those words. He hadn't put much thought into the East at all. Always more concerned with the navy and his own duties. Perhaps he would regret that now. He had accepted Gustav's plan and knew that Germany must suffer before they could hope to succeed, but...
That didn't make it any easier, did it?
"Right, sorry, I should have thought about how this hurts." The lieutenant actually picked up on the Admiral's mood. He finished picking his papers up and gestured towards another desk. That had yet further papers, though of smaller size. "Could you look over these intercepts? Maybe you can make better sense of them than we can."
"I can certainly try." Lütjens walked over to the papers, stopping just long enough to look at the younger man. "And I should thank you. I did not expect an Englander to care about my feelings. I am your enemy."
As the fading light of a setting sun shone on the two men, the lieutenant gave a small, ever so slight, smile. "Ah. Well, I have cousins in Germany. I can understand at least a little of what you feel. I worry about them all the time." His smile widened, a little, at Lütjens' suspicious glance. "Yeah, I figure that's why they assigned me to this. Gotta make sure you trust us so we can trust what you give us."
"I can admire the pragmatism. Very Germanic." Lütjens actually laughed, for what felt like the first time in years.
The two men shared that laugh, before returning to more serious matters. Or they would have, had Sascha not come charging into the room. Her eyes wide, blonde hair stuck to her face and falling from her otherwise tight bun. She looked past the lieutenant and right at Lütjens, as she sprinted across the room in no more than three strides.
Her long legs brought her right up to the Admiral she stood taller than, as she thrust a hand-drawn map at him.
"What is this, my dear?" Lütjens asked, frowning as he looked at the paper.
Sascha, her face twisted by worry, spoke very slowly. "That...is my transcription of the most recent message from my sister."
Frowning at that reaction, Lütjens ran a finger over the map. "Oh? And what news does she bring this time?"
In response, Sascha just looked at the lieutenant, and the pile of maps beside him. She bit her lip and shook her head, "Those maps are outdated. General Rommel...he..."
As she trailed off, Lütjens looked at the map and bit off a curse. Oh.
"Oh dear."
Norway
"That damn fool. I should have expected something like this."
Gustav Schreiber was no a man given to fits of annoyance, nor anger. Well. At least when the Soviets or the Nazis weren't involved. When either of those were related to his problem, anger did tend to overtake rationality. It had happened more times than he liked to admit.
So, perhaps, it should come as little surprise that he paced Blücher's deck. The ice did nothing to deter him, nor did the crew. They stood aside and did their duty. If they wondered why he was aboard the cruiser instead of his ostensible flagship, moored some distance away, none of them commented on it. At least where he could hear.
Besides, they took a sense of pride and superiority in knowing the Admiral preferred their cruiser to the big brute of a battleship.
Not that they have any idea why I do. Schreiber stopped pacing, blew out a breath that fogged before him, and shook his head fiercely. "I truly should have expected this. The man was a gloryhound before, and he still is now."
Standing beside him, invisible to her crew, Blücher brushed a bit of pink hair from her face. Her red scarf was pulled up tightly around her neck, but she made no complaints about the cold this time. No. Her blue eyes just watched her Admiral, feeling more than a little concern for him.
"Admiral, you knew something like this would happen." Her voice carried like a slap in the cold air, and the old man flinched slightly. Blücher frowned at that, "Ad-Admiral?"
Schreiber shook his head and gave a weak smile at the ship he considered his daughter, "No, you're correct. I did expect this. Just...not so soon, nor in this way. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Between myself and that American, things are just going to keep changing."
At the mention of Admiral Thompson, Blücher rolled her eyes mightily. "I still find it hard to believe some American came back like you did, Admiral. What are the odds?"
"The same odds that brought me here in the first place," the old Admiral appreciated what Blücher was doing and graced her with a smile. A smile that looked more a grimace, as it stretched the lines on his face into a scattershot pattern of starting and ending. "Impossible odds. What's a little more impossibility on top of that?"
Blücher rolled her eyes again, while Schreiber continued to stare out at the brooding forms of Bismarck and Tirpitz. The battleships, looming menacingly out of the fog, looked far more powerful than they actually were. Bristling with great guns. Massive turrets of hardened steel vanishing into the mists that surrounded them.
He knew all too well how vulnerable they were to aircraft. That the British had declined combat had as much to do with him as with the ships themselves. Because it was him in charge and not someone else.
In the dim sunlight, fading through the fog, he could almost fool himself into believing it was because they were afraid.
Then, I have no desire for them to fear me. I want to work with them.
Letting his eyes fall down to the ice-encrusted deck he stood upon, Schreiber pulled his greatcoat closer to his chest. The cold made his bones ache. Or was that the weight of his responsibility, bearing down on him? He didn't know anymore.
"All those boys, freezing in their trenches and dugouts..." the Admiral muttered to himself, before shaking his head. How many of them deserve it? More than I care to admit. I know more than anyone how brutal our armies were in the East. And how much brutality was done unto them in return.
With a fierce scowl and shake of his head, the Admiral stepped away from the railing he had unconsciously strode towards. He walked past Blücher and into the warmth of her interior. His footsteps carried him past his crew and into the Admiral's quarters that still retained some vestiges of when she was his flagship. Even now, the quarters were maintained for him.
'I won't let them change anything, sir! This is your home! I love when you're aboard, you know that!'
The smile that Blücher had worn when she said that was enough to warm Schreiber's heart, at least a little bit. He still couldn't help but frown, though. Things were coming to a head sooner than he anticipated, and he had to be ready for that.
"Blücher, dear?" Once the door was shut, the Admiral looked at his daughter-in-all-but-blood. She returned his look with utmost seriousness, in spite of her pink cheeks, dusted with the cold. "Find Captain Lange and bring him up to speed. We should prepare for a proper sortie."
Gaping at him now, Blücher seemed confused more than anything else. "A...proper sortie, sir? What do you mean?"
"I mean what I said. We need to start moving. My victories so far have made me popular in Germany, but it is not enough. We should find a convoy or two." Biting his lip, Schreiber clenched his fists by his side. "We should probably warn the British. Maybe we can convince them to leave only Soviet ships to us...I don't know."
Still visibly confused, Blücher walked up to her Admiral. The young woman, her chest rising and falling in motion with her deep breaths, frowned. "But why? I thought we were trying to work with them now?"
Why now, indeed. He had actually been trying to avoid direct conflict with the British for some time. It seemed counter-intuitive to expect them to work with him while he was drowning their sailors. But war was war, and he couldn't delay forever. He had brought Churchill on board. And Schreiber was confident that if any man understood the concept of sacrifice and of the need for battles, it was that man. He would understand.
He would not like it, but that was another thing entirely. It wasn't as if Schreiber relished the idea himself. The time traveler had more in common with the British than most.
"That damn fool in the East forced our hand, my dear." Schreiber placed his hand on Blücher, perhaps to steady himself. Or her. "The Army is going to lose prestige. More importantly, they're going to lose land and men. The Russians won't hesitate to take advantage, and neither should we."
After all...the core of his plan still hinged on making himself a household name in Germany, as Erwin Rommel once was.
Blücher placed her lithe hand upon Schreiber's rough, aged, limb...and smiled softly. "Guess we couldn't wait forever, eh, Admiral?"
"Not forever." Schreiber agreed. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss upon Blücher's pink hair. "When we do head out, be careful, my darling daughter. Captain Lange is a smart man, so I'm sure you'll be fine...but I can't take losing you."
They stayed like that, for a few blessed minutes. Soon enough, Blücher would track down her Captain and Schreiber would return to Bismarck. The time of 'play war' was over. It was time to properly reenter this conflict, for better or for worse. He could only wonder how many more lives he would take before it was over...
Central Russia
The dull thump of artillery firing, and the even duller sound of it impacting, was as familiar as breathing. Red Army soldiers marched to and fro, supplying shells to the mighty guns and firing them. Hundreds, nay, thousands of guns. All firing to a tune of their own making as the noose tightened. These men were working with a passion that many of their comrades had lacked in the early days of the war.
After all, why shouldn't they? This was their first taste of real victory. It probably shouldn't have even happened. The Germans were still fresh and still dangerous. They should have been brushing the Red Army aside, not the other way around.
Georgy Zhukov would not be one to complain. He was not even supposed to be here. Comrade Stalin did not trust him, and he was well aware of that fact.
"Yet, here I am." Stepping into his command tent, Zhukov sent a sharp glance at his staff. They were bent over tables and maps, chattering as they did their work. "Good. We should give them no chance to escape."
If anyone heard him, they didn't act like it. Zhukov gave a rough laugh, shaking his head. Good staff was hard to come by, even before the war had broken so many of them.
"Comrade General!" One of the men did stride up to him, though, with a paper in hand. "Reports from the front! It seems that we have cut the Germans off completely."
Zhukov nodded, taking the paper and glancing over it. Good. "So we have. Are they showing any signs of surrender?"
"Ah...not as yet, Comrade General."
Waving that off, Zhukov walked past the man and looked at the large map spread over his central table. A set of red markers designated his own forces, tightening the net around a set of gray Germans. Yet more forces kept the rest of the Germans out, though Zhukov knew better than anyone how difficult that would prove. It was the hardest part of all.
"We must tighten the noose further, then. Time is not our ally." Zhukov jabbed a finger at the map. "Find enough T-34s to launch a proper assault. If the Germans do not wish to surrender, we shall force them. A gift like this will not come twice."
As if to punctuate his words, another rolling barrage of artillery echoed through the tent. Continuing to batter the forward positions of the German Field Marshal Rommel.
The man is a fool too high on his own propaganda. He outran his supplies and will suffer for it. Zhukov looked at his staff, a small smile crossing his lips. "If ever there were an indication that their leader is mad, it was promoting that man so high."
His staff was far too professional to laugh, though Zhukov would swear he still heard soft laughter in the back. Let them. He felt the urge himself.
After all, it was as if there were some great cosmic joke playing out right before him.
AN: There we go. Decided to split it in half. Since it was getting long enough as is, and we wanted to hold to the promise to post something today. We'll see Thompson, Hood and Italy in the next update. Which should hopefully take nowhere near as long as this one did. >.>
Now, we should note:
This is not meant to imply that Manstein and the like are better generals or anything of the sort. Rommel getting in this fix is due entirely to his own well-recorded issues with outrunning his supplies. Bad enough to do that against the British...doing it against millions of very angry Russians is...well. It doesn't necessarily have to happen this way, but it is certainly plausible.
He did well enough to get to be a Field Marshal again and with control of a very large group of men (not a full army group by any means, but still a pretty decent chunk of men)...you can see how this is a problem
Again, hopefully the next chapter won't take this long.
And for the obligatory shilling again: Anyone who feels like supporting the patreon, we appreciate it. As well as anyone who is willing to sub to the youtube channel. We won't make a habit of the shilling down here. Just start putting it in spoiler at the top. Just doing it here because it's the first time we've had it while posting a chapter (that and we need to get to 1k subs to get any money out of the youtube, so, yeah. That. >.>)
I do feel some pity for the Soviet Navy. I think that they are about to have their shit shoved in pretty badly by the Kriegsmarine.
EDIT: Either that or a PQ-17 scenario is going to happen except the Kriegsmarine actually sorties. Its also a decently powerful force, two battleships, a Heavy Cruiser, some destroyers at least.
what did the USSR navy actually do during WW2 anyways?
Like, this is one of those things that literally never gets mentioned.
I always hear stuff from pretty much every other theatre BUT any of the ones the Soviet Navy was involved in.
Considering what their predecessor navy was like I doubt they did much anyways.
Looking forward to seeing the reaction of Captain Yokokawa and the rest of ZuiZui's senior officers to seeing her.
CAPT Yokokawa: *Surprised* I don't know how to explain it...one second it was business as usual, and the next there's a pissed-off teenage girl on my bridge reading me and the rest of the crew the riot act for not noticing her. I've heard ships had spirits, but I must say, our Zui-chan is definitely a lively one! CAPT Kaku: Hiryu is a quiet girl...the first thing she did was run up to RADM Yamaguchi, hug the life out of him, and call him 'Father'. *Sniffs* I know we're supposed to be unflinching in time of war, but that just...got to us, you know? CAPT Yanagimoto: I understand completely...Soryu hugged me as well. CAPT Arima: RADM Jojima, my predecessor, told me of strange occurrences that had been happening here and there since Shokaku had been commissioned; nothing bad, mind you...just strange. To think it was Shokaku herself trying to tell us things...that was something I would never have guessed in a million years. But compared to Zuikaku, Shokaku is a sweet and demure girl...all the younger sailors have eyes for her. *Rolls eyes* And some of the younger officers as well. CAPT Kaku: *Rolls eyes* Don't remind me...LCDR Kawaguchi (Air Officer) told me he's had to break up several...I believe the crude American term is 'pissing contests'...between the pilots in efforts to gain her affections. *Smirks* I told him to tell them they would first have to ask her 'father' for permission to court her.
*All the Captains laugh* CAPT Arima: *Grins* Bet that went over well! CAPT Kaku: *Grins* Stopped things right in their tracks! CAPT Yanagimoto: And what about you, Aoki-san...has Akagi introduced herself to you yet? CAPT Aoki: *Nods* Yes. She first appeared to the galley crew. They freaked out, but when they realized who she was they immediately accepted her. Our supply consumption has gone up, though...our carrier likes human food quite a bit. (AN: Gross understatement. ) But she is a big help in other aspects; the Engineering crew were really grateful for her help in any maintenance. She can tell them exactly what needs fixing and what might need work before they know it. So I don't mind if she consumes some food every now and then. CAPT Yanagimoto: I know my Engineers would appreciate Soryu's input in their 'realm'.
*Yokokawa, Kaku, and Arima all utter noises of agreement* CAPT Yokokawa: I wonder if any spirits of other ship types have manifested...
**Main Bridge, HIJMS Kongo**
*ComBatDiv 3 VADM Mikawa Gunichi and CAPT Koyanagi Tomiji are returning to the bridge after walking the deck* VADM Mikawa: So I believe we'll sortie soon...something's in the works for the near future, but you know as well as I do how the higher-ups like to play their cards close to their chest. CAPT Koyanagi: Yes, sir -
*Suddenly, there is the sound of running feet and both officers close their eyes* VADM Mikawa: Your turn to be 'greeted'. CAPT Koyanagi: Crap. Guess Who: TEIII~TOOO~KUUU!!!~
I really like Turkey here.
If she ends up going down I hope Takeda survives and that she self-summons.
what did the USSR navy actually do during WW2 anyways?
Like, this is one of those things that literally never gets mentioned.
I always hear stuff from pretty much every other theatre BUT any of the ones the Soviet Navy was involved in.
Considering what their predecessor navy was like I doubt they did much anyways.
huh.
then that's probably why I don't hear much about them, they were just helping anything near their coasts, rather than getting into naval battles with the enemy and so on and so forth.
huh.
then that's probably why I don't hear much about them, they were just helping anything near their coasts, rather than getting into naval battles with the enemy and so on and so forth.
The Red Navy was also prioritized less than the Red Army, Red Army Air Force, PVO, etc... due to some.... pressing concerns... that the soviets faced from the summer of 1941 onwards
The Red Navy also consisted mostly of submarines (they made up around 29% of the total navel vessels) and no aircraft carriers, which limited their fleet capabilities somewhat
"It's been months now! Are you ever going to tell the Captain about me, or not?" The girl glared at him, hands on her hips. Her scandalously short skirt shifted on her legs, as she brought one of those hands up to shake at him. "I won't wait forever, you know! I'll go to him myself!"
In response, Sascha just looked at the lieutenant, and the pile of maps beside him. She bit her lip and shook her head, "Those maps are outdated. General Rommel...he..."
As she trailed off, Lütjens looked at the map and bit off a curse. Oh.
Welp, looks like Mr. 7th Panzer Division fucked up, and if things look as bad as they seem then he's going to be one that gets remembered for being encircled rather than the encircling.
*Chuckles* I guess this means Schreiber is the one that gets memed to hell and back about being a so-called tactical genius in this timeline eh? Wonder what sort of 'akschually' argument a future wherb comes up with.
Having one of Germany's most famous war heroes be a naval war hero is going to have all sorts of interesting effects on the pop-culture perception of WW2. Probably going to be more videogames set in a naval war in Europe than in our timeline. With Bismarck serving as the final boss. And the low-budget history channel "documentaries" that have the US surrender unconditionally after two nukes delivered by U-Boat may instead have Schreiber win some ridiculously improbably "2nd Jutland" that lets Germany conquer Britain.
more like who gonna duck first as a triple saulting bongou came flying for some hugs and kisses.
but to be serious, at this time frame. Kongou would be more incline to bring her british heat on them about the stupidity of their high command...
Before dragging them to tea to continue any discussion, with the threat to anyone who disturb "her" tea time that she'll be giving them alot of "problems".
did anyone of you guys go back in time and introduce Rommel to Eurobeat so HARD that he practically made his small group of tanks go drifting and racing so hard behind enemy lines that they forgot to bring enough "Gas" for them to circle back to the starting line?
Akagi. Hiryu. Soryu. Shoukaku. And, of course, Zuikaku.
All of the remaining fleet carriers, gathered together for what could only be a major battle with the Americans. What else could justify bringing them all together like this? Takeda was no strategist, no captain, yet he was not blind. Nor stupid.
Indeed, it was obvious even to a relative neophyte in ground tactics. The lieutenant looked at the maps and frowned lightly. "I see...I wonder. The Caucasus. Don't the Reds have oil fields out that way?"
In response, Sascha just looked at the lieutenant, and the pile of maps beside him. She bit her lip and shook her head, "Those maps are outdated. General Rommel...he..."
As she trailed off, Lütjens looked at the map and bit off a curse. Oh.
At the mention of Admiral Thompson, Blücher rolled her eyes mightily. "I still find it hard to believe some American came back like you did, Admiral. What are the odds?"
"The same odds that brought me here in the first place," the old Admiral appreciated what Blücher was doing and graced her with a smile. A smile that looked more a grimace, as it stretched the lines on his face into a scattershot pattern of starting and ending. "Impossible odds. What's a little more impossibility on top of that?"
"I mean what I said. We need to start moving. My victories so far have made me popular in Germany, but it is not enough. We should find a convoy or two." Biting his lip, Schreiber clenched his fists by his side. "We should probably warn the British. Maybe we can convince them to leave only Soviet ships to us...I don't know."
The time of 'play war' was over. It was time to properly reenter this conflict, for better or for worse. He could only wonder how many more lives he would take before it was over...
As if to punctuate his words, another rolling barrage of artillery echoed through the tent. Continuing to batter the forward positions of the German Field Marshal Rommel.
The man is a fool too high on his own propaganda. He outran his supplies and will suffer for it.
Okay, so... First and foremost, the USSR's neglect of the Navy is well-known, because Stalin basically said "They triggered the 1917 revolution from the Aurora, they are clearly full of dissidents, keep them heavily monitored and purge them regularly". Subsequently, they had basically zero officer corps and zero non-conscript sailors available for the entire war.
Secondly, Soviet Shipbuilding had basically sat and rotted from 1917 until the middle of the 1930's, when plans to use the Italian Folgore-class Destroyer blueprints as a basis for the Gnevny-class destroyers were approved. The Folgore, already 'marginally stable', was, in the process of Soviet Shipbuilding modifications, overloaded with larger and heavier guns, making the design incredibly rough-riding and considered to be a punishment duty. Several Gnevny-class destroyers were lost from storms snapping them in half due to the soviet penchant for longitudinal framing at the ends, and transverse framing in the center around the engines.
So, as War Loomed Closer, the Soviet Navy had a quartet of Gangut-class Battleships, a double fistful of modern destroyers, an absolute whack of world war I era destroyers and auxiliary craft, and a handful of shiny new 8,000 tonne 'Light Cruisers' with 7-inch guns that fired at nearly the same pace as Yamato's 18.1 inch guns.
What they had Building was a pair of 45,000 tonne Battlecruisers that were too long for the slipway (such that 150 feet of their sterns had to be built in separate slipways) armed with 12-inch guns that could only fire 5 times before the barrel self-destructed from wear, Fourteen 70,000 tonne Battleships (four laid down, ten pending) that were originally Littorios with 16-inch guns, and blueprints that were completed only after construction had started.
Functionally, the Soviet Navy had been hamstrung even before the shooting started, and it speaks volumes that history widely considers the SN's heaviest and most-powerful combat asset to be the R-class Dreadnought Royal Sovereign. You know, the British Battleship that was neglected so severely by a lack of maintenance and even basic movement that her guns welded themselves to their turret barbettes and secondary mounts due to all the rust.
Combat-wise, the main combatants that were Mobile were the Kirov-class cruisers and Gnevny-class destroyers in the Black Sea, as well as a handful of Gnevny-class based out of Arkhangelsk; the former were mostly used to bombard advancing Romanian and German troops heading towards Odessa and the Crimean peninsula (as well as attempting to take offline the Radio Station on Snake Island that was still operable in 2022), and the Luftwaffe punished the Black Sea fleet as heavily as they could; by 1943, when Stalin ordered a complete cessation of the movement of Soviet Naval Assets in the Black Sea, There was only one 'Project 7-U' (Upgraded Gnevny) class destroyer left afloat in the black sea, Tashkent had long been sunk, and most of the heavier assets had been hemmed in by torpedo boats, mines, dive bombers, and similar, and stuck in a shore support role.
In the Baltic, the Soviet Fleet was bottled up even faster, though Gangut was instrumental in protecting Leningrad, as, stuck in Dock and unable to retreat due to all approaches being mined, she still had her big guns that were used in counter-battery duties for the nearly 900 days of the siege. (Petravoplask, the Admiral Hipper-class that had been bought by the soviets was used as target practive by German land-based artillery, taking no less than 56 damaging hits before she sank at dockside)
And in the Arctic Approaches to Arkhangelsk and Murmansk, the Gnevny-class destroyers were constantly sortied out to escort convoys into the only open port the Soviets had; several, notably, had been tasked with protecting HMS Edinburgh after the Town-class took two torpedoes in the same spot that left her crippled, but broke off to refuel without informing the Royal Navy. By the time they returned, Edinburgh had been sunk after a third torpedo hit in the same spot. (That poor girl had the worst luck with trorpedoes). In General, the most-successful warships in the SN were the Gnevny-class Destroyers assigned to the approaches, as, between the 10-strong squadron (a full third of the construction batch), They escorted virtually every Murmansk-bound (inbound and outbound) convoy to halfway around Norway for 4 years, nonstop, while doing their level best to fend off the German Narvik-class destroyers, and the pucker factor of worrying when assets like the Admiral Hipper, Lutzow, or Tirpitz would deploy.
That theatre is also where Royal Sovereign got sent to Rot, so it was decidedly not all 'heroics in horrible storms' for anything bigger.
Honestly, as far as Rommel is concerned, we've had this planned since we first put him in Russia. His biggest fault as a general (not as a man) is that he was reckless and charged ahead past his supplies.
To be fair, Rommel wasn't the only one who did that, not amongst Axis or Allied Generals all things considered. Hell, it even happened during one of the Gulf Wars.
I doubt Kongo is that way currently she hasn't suffered the losses and Despair that the war generated before her death.
Even in the Official works, the hyper Kongo is stated mainly to be a Morale booster.
(that and we need to get to 1k subs to get any money out of the youtube, so, yeah. That. >.>)
